


Black and Gold

by PhantomEngineer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, whisky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 17:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17853884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomEngineer/pseuds/PhantomEngineer
Summary: Minerva is the one to make the first move, after more whisky than might be sensible.





	Black and Gold

There had been plenty of Gryffindor courage involved, though it was firmly bolstered by a reasonable quantity of Dutch courage, which Minerva resented as really given that it was mostly Laphroaig that she’d drunk it should really be called Scotch courage, but that was probably the whisky talking. She wasn’t supposed to be drinking whisky like it was going out of fashion, but as far as she could tell no one else appreciated the comforting smell of smoky peat that warmed her as much as a peat fire had done when she still a girl in the highlands. It tasted of sea winds and heart-wrenchingly green hills, burning through her veins and firing her up. She had decided that this life wasn’t for her, living in London as she filed paperwork, attending these parties for the old purebloods to rub shoulders with the Ministry workers. She would miss the free whisky, so she was making the most of it. She’d miss being able to look over through the crowds towards Walburga Black and marvel at the woman’s dark beauty. It didn’t matter anymore, as it was her last chance. A drunken confession, followed by regret intermingled with a hangover, before she packed all her things to move back up to Hogwarts, which wasn’t quite as beautiful as Caithness but it was better than London at least. Most places were. 

Walburga was married, everyone knew that. Walburga gave Minerva a mildly unimpressed look, which may had been due to her father being a muggle, to her being drunker than was probably considered ladylike, or possibly the cut of her robes being less fashionable than they should have been. Minerva didn’t know, though she also suspected that Walburga gave everyone the same look. As far as she could tell, the only people Walburga approved of were other members of the Back family, which made it rather convenient for her that she had married her cousin. Minerva didn’t care. As far as she was concerned if she was in for a penny she might as well be in for a pound as well. Within the week she’d be able to get drunk amongst the heather on Old Pulteney as the Scottish rain washed away all her sorrows and she abandoned love for good, devoting herself to a classroom the way some women devoted themselves to the cloisters.

“Walburga Black,” she said, in a voice that wasn’t as clear as she’d have liked, but too much of the world was spinning for her to really care. Her focus was on the darkly painted lips in front of her, which seemed caught between a sneer and a smile.

“Minerva McGonagall…” Walburga commented in her icy, upperclass tone, devoid of any hint of emotion, but Minerva felt her breath catch. She had not expected Walburga to know her name, assuming herself to be just a faceless and irrelevant member of staff existing to be dismissed and looked down upon. She felt her stomach twist, out of a combination of a sudden shock of hope or the wriggling sensation of nerves. It could also have been her body suggesting that maybe she should have stopped a few whiskies back and that her stomach would really quite like to get rid of a bit of the excess.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Minerva said, which hadn’t been what she was planning on saying, but her mind was clouded with a rich smoke and a curling warmth ignited within her. She hesitated, a brief moment, as if to gauge the reaction, knowing that it was a disastrously bad idea that would mean her fledging career as a teacher was compromised by gossip, but none of that mattered when those lips changed clearly from a hint of a sneer to what was without a hint of a doubt an actual smile, the first smile Minerva thought she had actually seen grace that handsome face. So she did, leaning forward to kiss Walburga. She would have fallen, unbalanced by her own motion and the way the world was shifting in ways she couldn’t quite understand, but an arm wrapped around her to steady her, a kind gesture from a body that had never shown kindness to anything. 

She had woken the following morning with patchy memories and a pounding head to a note in the most elegant hand she had ever seen that simply said ‘YES’ though it took her a long time to find out what the question had been. By the time she did they’d already run away together to Skye to live and love amongst the mountains of black and gold, surrounded by moors that stretched to the seas as they sipped rich Talisker. It was chaotic and without any competition the worst decision either of them had ever made, but the regrets never outweighed the regrets that Minerva knew would have haunted her had she not made the first move to set fire to the funeral pyre of her time at the Ministry.


End file.
